


Day 16: I'm With the Band

by ofplanet_earth



Series: 30 days of Barduil [16]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Bartender Bard, Bassist Legolas, Bouncer Dwalin, Confused Bard, Drummer Tauriel, Flirting, Flirty Thranduil, Frontman Thranduil, Frontwoman Galadriel, M/M, Smitten Bard, Soundman Bofur, Thranduil is with the band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sorry mate, bar doesn't open until eight." </p><p>Bard looked up to see a man with glowing blond hair beneath an oversized knit hat. A faded brown button up hung on his sharp shoulders and a cozy green scarf was wrapped loose around his slender neck. He was... well he was beautiful, even under the dim pub lights. He smirked when he saw Bard look him up and down. "I'm with the band," he said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 16: I'm With the Band

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleLynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/gifts).



> LittleLynn asked for a rockstar AU! I went for a toned-down sort of rockstar, though. I hope that's alright :)
> 
> rated T... but a rather strong T.

Bard loved live music— loved the feeling of the sticky floor vibrating through his shoes and the echo of the bass in his chest. He loved the ringing in his ears, the hoarse tone of his voice and the shock of the cold walk home. He'd been coming to The Lonely Pub since he was old enough to get past the bouncer. The company was good and the beer was cheap, but he was there for the music. It didn't matter much who was playing; from the time he was eighteen, he'd been first in line for almost every show.

He made friends with the owner and landed a job tending bar not long after. Suddenly there was no more waiting for the doors to open; no more cover charge. He was paid to serve booze and listen to music and god, he wouldn't trade it for anything. 

When he arrived at the pub, the queue was already stretched round the block. Bard strode straight to the front, nodded a hello to Dwalin and pushed open the door, delighting in the chorus of shouts that erupted from the crowd left waiting outside. Poor sods. It was only seven in the evening and nearing freezing already.

Bard took his time cleaning the ice bucket and prepping his stock; the night promised a large crowd but Dwalin wouldn't start letting people in for another hour, at least. The marquee above the door boasted some band from London, though Bard couldn't recall their name. They were a big enough name that folks were coming from as far as Wrexham to see them play. Thorin didn't usually sell tickets, but tonight's show sold out within a week. 

"Have you got any red wine?" A man slid onto a barstool as Bard sliced a lime. "A Syrah if you have it." 

"Sorry mate, bar doesn't open until eight." 

Bard looked up to see a man with glowing blond hair beneath an oversized knit hat. A faded brown button up hung on his sharp shoulders and a cozy green scarf was wrapped loose around his slender neck. He was... well he was beautiful, even under the dim pub lights. He smirked when he saw Bard look him up and down. "I'm with the band," he said. 

"Well that changes things," he smiled. "No Syrah but I've got a decent Cab Sav if that'll do." 

"That'll do just fine." Bard pulled a glass from the rack above his head and set it on the bar. "How much do I owe you?"

"That depends. Can I have your name?" 

A smooth and sly smirk slid over the man's face. "Thranduil." 

"No charge, Thranduil." 

He tipped his head to one side, the smirk spreading into a grin. ”And do I get to know your name?"

"It's Bard," he replied. "Pleasure." 

“The pleasure is mine, Bard the Bartender." They shook hands over the bar and Thranduil picked up his wine. "You live nearby?"

"Aye, not too far. You?" 

"London." 

"That explains the accent. It doesn't explain why you're here." 

"I told you, I'm with the band." 

"Yes I know. That's why you have a drink in your hand." Bard spread his arms and leaned his hands against the bar. "But the queue outside must be a kilometre long already. What brings such a big name to a little pub like this?" 

"Is that meant to be a pickup line?" Thranduil's grin was wide and bright. It dusted pink over the apples of his cheeks and Bard couldn't bring himself to look away. 

"If you like," he returned Thranduil's smile and watched as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Thranduil stayed at the bar until Dwalin opened the doors to begin letting people in. "I should go," he said, though he looked almost reluctant to do so. "Maybe I'll find you after the show?" 

"I'll be here until close at two," Bard sighed. Suddenly the thought of serving two hundred out- of- town folk seemed like hell— even with the promise of a live show. 

And it was hell. He'd become used to the company of Thranduil— the man from London with stars in his hair and a promise in his smile— and the droves of people streaming in from the street were rude, impatient and loud.

It was nights like this that Bard was grateful he stood _behind_ the bar. The whole pub was packed and he didn't fancy having to fight his way through the madness. The opening act came onstage at nearly half- nine— fashionably late as they always were. Feedback screeched through the speakers as they began to play.

They were rather good, actually. The woman singing was almost angelic, with her long golden hair and her long, sheer tunic. They called themselves Lórien and they played slow, melodic ballads. But the crowd was getting anxious by the time they began to clear their equipment. Bard watched the stage hands for the shine of Thranduil's hair, but he was disappointed.

He began to wonder if Thranduil was with the band at all or if he'd only been aiming for a free drink. The thought that he'd been played so effortlessly left Bard's mouth sour. 

But soon the speakers crackled again and the crowd began to cheer. The drummer strode across the stage, her long red hair loose around her shoulders. The bassist came next and Bard had to do a double take. He looked like Thranduil, but only at first glance. He settled the strap over his shoulder and faced the crowd. Maybe they were brothers?

The rumble of bass and the kick of drums garnered an enormous cheer from the crowd and Bard's mood began to lift again. It didn't matter if Thranduil had lied. In fact it didn't matter if Bard never saw him again. He was just a guy he met while at work. A beautiful guy. An interesting, beautiful guy who had the most amazing eyes and the most sincere smile and the most adorable blush Bard had ever seen. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and focused on serving drinks.

The crowd went wild and Bard assumed the singer had made his way onto the stage. Frontmen always had a flare for the dramatics, though if this was the response they got, he thought he could understand why. The grind and twang of the guitar was layered over the bass and the drums and all the screams that filled the pub. Bard could recognize the song as one he'd heard on the radio, but not well enough to follow along. 

They dove right into it, executing a near perfect progression of notes and chords and pounding beats. It had the bar vibrating slightly beneath his hands and his chest thrilling— perhaps Bard’s night wasn’t lost after all. Then he heard it. A voice so smooth and lilting and completely flawless it cut right through all the cheers of the crowd and the dull clatter of the pub and struck Bard straight against his sternum.

He looked up to see Thranduil onstage, still in his scarf and his knit hat, a mahogany electric guitar hanging low from his shoulder and a microphone pressed close to his lips. He was staring straight at him. Thranduil wasn’t with the band, he bloody _was_ the band. All these people had driven hours to be here in this dank, cramped pub just to see him. And Bard had stood across the bar from him without any fucking clue.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring until the pint glass in his hand overflowed with Guinness. He cursed as he came back to himself, levelling off the glass and giving it a brief wipe before placing it on the bar. The song ended and the air felt thin in his lungs, as if the sounds had been physical things assaulting Bard’s senses. 

“Can I get a bit more vocals, please?” Thranduil spoke into the mic. To his right, Bard could see Bofur adjusting the controls on his console. “What d’you think. Are we having fun?” Thranduil was met with a monstrous roar and he laughed breathily into the mic.

“What’re you all drinking tonight?” 

Another uproar from the crowd. “I tell you, be sure to tip your bartender. He’s quiet but he’s got a temper on him. Of course I didn’t tip him earlier. I forgot my wallet in my other jeans,” he smirked. “But worry not, Bartender. I plan to pay you back.” Thranduil began to pick at his guitar again, stepping back from the mic as he threw himself into the next song.

He was… he was fucking incredible. All soft features and closed eyes, hands gliding over the strings of his guitar the way he might caress a lover’s neck. Bard was in trouble— he could admit that. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Thranduil onstage, lost in his music and pouring his heart out for this crowd. They were all screaming, jumping and singing along, but like Bard at the beginning of the night, they didn’t know what they had in front of them. 

Bard spent the rest of the set stealing glances and catching looks— Thranduil singing, Thranduil smiling, Thranduil staring straight through him. Bard was so worked up by the time the band exited the stage he nearly ran out from behind the bar to follow them. But thorin would kill him if he left his post— would kill him again if Bofur or Bilbo took his place and managed to make someone sick. 

So he stayed behind the bar. He listened to the canned sound of prerecorded music and he mixed drinks. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the clock. Finally, he sounded last call and could begin closing up shop. He sealed all the bottles and wiped down his surfaces, anxiously biding his time until Dwalin began emptying the place. 

Bard was about to leave, about to grab his coat and pray the band hadn’t packed up and left already, when a familiar figure appeared at the end of the bar. “Sorry,” Bard said with a smirk. “I’m done for the night.” 

“I’m with the band,” Thranduil teased, his voice low enough that Bard had to strain to hear him over the dull bustle of the pub. 

“You’re a cheeky bastard is what you are,” Bard laughed. 

Thranduil took a step forward, trailing his hand along the bar as he came closer. Gone were his hat and his scarf, leaving him only in his faded brown button up and a V-neck sticking to the sheen of sweat at his collarbones. “Did you like the set?”

“I did,” Bard said. 

“I could tell.” He smirked. “I meant what I said up there.” 

“Oh?” Bard looked up at him, somewhat surprised by how tall he was up close. “What’s that?” 

“I still intend to tip you,” Thranduil smirked. “To pay you back for that drink.” His finger caught on one of Bard’s belt loops and tugged him closer. 

“It _was_ a really good wine,” Bard mused. 

“Mmm,” Thranduil hummed. He leaned closer without closing the distance between them. “It was. Name your price, Bartender.” 

Bard didn’t name anything. Instead he leaned up and stole a kiss from Thranduil’s parted lips. His breath was ragged and whistling through his nose as his arms snaked around Thranduil’s waist. Thranduil lifted his hands to frame Bard’s face, combing the stray hairs back from his forehead and angling his jaw to push his tongue past Bard’s teeth.

Bard quickly forgot that he stood in the middle of the pub, shamelessly groaning into a musician’s mouth where any of his coworkers could see. He quickly found he didn’t care. Thranduil was pressed hard against him, his knee slipping between Bard’s thighs as Bard clung to him. 

“That’s— that’s some tip.” Bard gasped. 

“Oh,” Thranduil’s voice was part groan, part promise, part warning. “I have not even _begun_ to pay you back.”

Bard opened his mouth, a witty retort poised on his tongue when another voice filtered over the din. “You coming back to the hotel, Thran?” Bard turned to see the bassist in the centre of the floor, amp in hand, his case strapped to his back, and a hardened look on his face.

Thranduil looked at him, then back to Bard. His hands were still buried in his hair. “You said you live close by, yes?” 

Bard’s heart was lodged in his throat and his voice was reduced to mere wisps of sound. “Aye.”

Thranduil turned back to his bandmate, where he stood, waiting. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Legolas.”

**Author's Note:**

> got a fic idea? [send me an ask](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll add it to the list!  
> I like to tag [inspiration](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/30-days-of-barduil).  
> you can keep track of my word count on my [novel page](http://nanowrimo.org/participants/ofplanet-earth/novels/30-days-of-barduil) or on my [tumblr](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/nanowrimo).


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